


Moriarty's Mistake

by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel



Series: The mind is its own place [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Angels, Demons, Episode: The Great Game, Gen, Lucifer!Sherlock, Sherlock is a BAMF, Sherlock's Berserk Button, idek, oh Moriarty you did not just do that, there's a saying about the Devil's own temper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-21
Updated: 2012-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-08 05:50:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel/pseuds/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Moriarty was doing just fine, until he made the mistake of abducting the Devil’s flatmate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moriarty's Mistake

** Moriarty’s Mistake **

The entire affair was really quite diverting until Moriarty made the mistake of kidnapping John.

Sherlock was waiting by the pool where Carl Powers had died – Moriarty would appreciate the symbolism, he was sure – calling out to his unseen enemy, when John stepped into sight.

Sherlock stopped in shock. _That_ wasn’t part of the programme.

“John?” Sherlock asked. “What the _hell_ –”

He broke off as he put it all together – the fact that they were still one pip short which meant one more victim before the game was done, the suspicious bulk of the coat John was wearing (enough to hide an explosive vest), John’s set expression, and the fact that Sherlock’s one vulnerable spot was one loyal, brave, unsullied little human.

“Bet you never saw this coming,” John said, his voice catching despite his best attempts to keep it even.

Sherlock felt his eyes narrow.

“Oh, you have just made a big mistake,” he told his unseen enemy darkly. “You are going to _regret_ this, I assure you.”

“What,” Moriarty continued, still using John as his mouthpiece, “would you like me to say next? Gottle o’ geer gottle o’ geer, gottle–” John’s voice broke slightly.

“Stop it,” Sherlock ordered, staring around, scanning the pool, trying to spot Moriarty’s hiding place.

“Nice touch, this,” John said, and Sherlock could feel the fire rising in his blood, because this wasn’t mere kidnapping – this was cruelty, a game, a _whim_. And John was at no one’s whims except Sherlock’s own. “The pool where little Carl died. I stopped him, I can stop John Watson too – stop his heart.”

“Who are you?” Sherlock demanded, rotating again in the hope of glimpsing Moriarty. The man _had_ to be here somewhere, waiting for his dramatic moment – this entire game had been leading up to it, there was no way the criminal mastermind would miss the dramatic climax he had been waiting for.

“I gave you my number,” a mocking falsetto called. “I thought you might call.”

The man who strolled forward out of the darkness was dressed in an expensive designer suit, a figure of neat elegance.

“Is that a British army Browning L9A1 in your pocket,” the man mused, accent lilting, “or are you just pleased to see me?”

Sherlock drew the gun.

“Both,” he replied, still assessing the situation.

Moriarty gazed at Sherlock consideringly, with dark, intelligent eyes. Sherlock recognised the facial features and physical characteristics, even though everything else was different.

“Jim Moriarty,” the man said slowly. “Hi!”

That was the last piece of confirmation Sherlock needed.

“Good to know,” Sherlock said, smiling grimly, and reached inwards. 

Astoreth appeared in front of him, superficially human, eyebrows raised slightly. She looked at Sherlock’s murderous expression, glanced around to take in her surroundings, and winced at the sight of John in the semtex vest.

Moriarty’s expression was still one of shock as Astoreth turned to look at him, her form shifting into the bat-winged horror of Christian mythos.

The explosives attached to John vanished at the same moment, as did the red dots playing across John’s chest.

Sherlock stepped forward with all the authority of the Prince of Hell, hellfire curling up behind him courtesy of Astoreth, throwing strange shadows across his face. Mentally he congratulated himself on having a second-in-command who was so quick on the uptake.

“Your mistake,” he told Moriarty, “was touching John. Astoreth. I want him to suffer the greatest torments imaginable, without respite. See to it.”

Astoreth grinned nastily. In her current form, it was rather terrifying.

“Of course, my lord Lucifer.”

“No,” Moriarty yelped, eyes wide, “this can’t–”

Astoreth grabbed hold of him and vanished, taking his frantic denials with her.

Sherlock instantly turned to John in concern.

“Are you alright? Are you _alright?_ ”

John let out gasping breaths, trying to process the fact that the danger was gone.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thank God for your minions.”

Sherlock couldn’t contain the dry look he gave John, despite the extenuating circumstances.

“That’s not the way it usually works.”

He saw John’s face change as he realised what he’d actually just said.

John started to giggle breathlessly, much like the last time Sherlock and his demons had rescued him from kidnapping. It was a little more wheezing than last time, but understandable, considering that John had been in substantially more immediate danger this time.

Sherlock was just in time to catch him as his leg gave way.

“Bloody hell,” John said into Sherlock’s chest, “This better not become a habit, Sherlock.”

He giggled again, less wheezy and more breathy. Good. The adrenalin was beginning to wear off a little.

“I hope not,” Sherlock agreed. “We should leave, before anyone comes to investigate.” He paused a beat. “Feel like Chinese?”

This time John laughed so hard he actually had to sit down.

   
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> *grins* So, I wrote this almost immediately after I wrote the first story, and now I've finally gotten around to posting it.
> 
>  
> 
> Let's face it, between Moriarty and the Devil, Moriarty is severely outclassed.


End file.
